


Pay For It

by i_am_a_hog



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: I'm on T and I'm so horny and raph keeps giving me IDEAS so here I am. being horny, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, anatomy whomst?, history whomst?, jeames tops, this is entirely based of my very comprehensive list of things I want james fitzjames to do to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24735337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: James tops the alcoholism out of Francis..
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	Pay For It

**Author's Note:**

> No excuse. 
> 
> largely not even read thru.

Francis stumbled back against the table, his right foot knocking against the books that kept it standing. He knew, that the alcohol probably did not help but the reason he stumbled was of a different nature. Francis was not that much of a drunk mess yet. He swallowed hard at the thought he knew to be true. _Yet_.

_Fuck_.

No, the reason for losing his footing was a firm shove at the hands of his second. James Fitzjames was glaring at him from the other side of the cabin, head slightly ducked under the low ceiling, his stance still impressively imposing. Francis’ breath hitched at the way James looked at him. There was so much emotion there. Mostly contempt, but also wariness, plain rage, and… lust.

The _yet_ was also the reason, why he felt his prick harden against his thigh. Not _yet_ enough of a drunkard to be incapable of such base desires. Base desires as fucking one’s second.

What the alcohol did, however, was to lower his inhibitions. Francis leered at James, grinning with his teeth bared.

“Come and get me then,” he spat.

He merely blinked before James had crossed the room. He was there, looming over Francis, so infuriatingly in control of himself. And of Francis.

“You stole from me, Francis.” A tone of deep accusation, but Francis heard the tremble in his voice and knew James wanted this just as much as him. “And you will pay for it.”

Francis was not entirely sure if it was the alcohol or his temper that made him utter the fateful words, but he could not bring himself to regret them.

“Make me.”

James’ lips were on his in an instant, claiming him, and all Francis could do was arch up into his touch, into him. All of him. But James was evasive, ever the tease. HE pulled back, leaving Francis panting for more, barely nipping at his jaw, then his earlobe while he undid the buttons of his coat. As he slipped the cravat from its place at his collar, James looked at him, eyes burning with a singular focus on Francis. Without a warning, James took him by his shoulders and turned him around, thighs pressing into the table, while James crowded up behind Francis and with a few expert movements bound his hands together tightly. The fabric of the cravat was soft but unyielding and the feeling of being trapped like this, helpless in front of James made Francis’ knees weak.

“James,” he all but moaned, but in that exact moment, James stepped away.

“Quiet.” A command. “Turn around.”

Francis knew that voice. He had heard it from the mouths of other men, from his own even, and from James, directed at his men. But never at him; never at Francis. The force of command in those few syllables made Francis instinctively stand up straight, ignoring the ache in his trousers, and turn around.

James had opened a few buttons of his shirt, giving Francis a show of his collar bones of the hollow of his neck, and the thought of sucking marks into the skin there was enough to make Francis lose his posture again.

“On your knees,” James said. Hands behind his back and head up straight, this might as well have been an order to adjust course. The only thing that betrayed James’ calm act was the bulge of his cock straining against his trousers and the burning intensity of his eyes.

Francis obeyed. The wood under his knees was cold and hard, but this was forgotten, as soon as James ran his fingers through Francis’ hair once, securing his position, before withdrawing again, not touching Francis at all.

For several moments, the only sound in the cabin was Francis’ own laboured breathing, an anticipation of what was to come, a sign of his eagerness.

Then, James reached for the buttons of his trousers, opening them, tugging his cock from his linens. Francis swallowed, licked his lips.

“If it gets too much, make yourself known,” James said, his tone softer for a moment, before his hand returned to the back of Francis’ head.

Francis nodded.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Well done.” The praise, even at this, sent a jolt of arousal to Francis’ groin, he stifled a groan and looked up at James.

What an impression this would be to anybody happening upon them. The captain of the expedition on his knees, bound and needy for his second’s prick. Before Francis could dwell on the image, James spoke again.

“Open.”

Francis obeyed. The warm tangy weight of James’ dick on his tongue was intoxicating, perhaps more so than any whiskey he had consumed in the last week; it was addictive. Francis circled his tongue once, bobbed his head slightly, starting to develop a rhythm, when James stopped him.

A moan left his lips before he could utter a word, which made Francis once again painfully aware of his own situation.

“Stay still,” James ground out between his teeth. “You will _take_ me.”

Francis almost involuntarily melted at the command, his jaw falling slack, as James brought the second hand to his cock, guiding it where he wanted it – leaking and heavy on Francis’ tongue, before this hand joined his other at the back of Francis’ head. For a moment their gazes met; James’ asking for consent, Francis giving it.

The first thrust sent tears to Francis’ eyes. He managed not to gag, forced himself to relax and breathe through his nose.

Another thrust.

To experience the power of James’ body was overwhelming; he started to set a rhythm, slow, thorough, considerate even, but in no aspect letting Francis forget who was in charge. From his closed eyes, a tear escaped, ran down his cheek to mix with the saliva and James’ precome leaking from the corner of Francis’ mouth. It was exhausting, it was exhilarating and exquisite to be at James’ mercy like this, letting the other use his body to pleasure himself.

And pleasure he got. James noticeably tried to suppress any noises giving away his own enjoyment of the situation, but soon, his grunts and moans, in time with his thrusts, filled the cabin, mixing with the sloppy sounds of every thrust.

When Francis glanced up, he caught James’ mouth hanging open, eyes half-closed. His hips began to stutter and Francis mentally braced himself, but just then, James pulled back.

He hauled Francis up, and pulled him into a searing kiss. Francis let out a needy whimper.

“So good,” James muttered, pressing kisses to Francis’ jawline. “So good for me. So good, that my punishment will be a reward, also. I’m going to open you up, Francis.” At his words, his hands made their way to Francis’ trousers, opened them with surprising ease, shoved them down past Francis’ thighs. His hands returned to Francis’ bottom, grasping at the warm flesh.

Francis let out another undignified whimper. With his hands still bound behind his back, he could do little more than hump against cold air, unfulfilling and frustrating.

“Open you up until you beg for my prick. And then I’ll take you and fill you up and you will like it.” His breath against the side of Francis’ neck, the raspy baritone of his voice, the way, his hands were handling Francis, it was all becoming too much.

“Yes, Sir,” Francis breathed.

James had only waited for his consent. At the words, he turned Francis around, shoved him against the table, bending him over, one hand resting at the base of Francis’ spine. Francis heard a bottle being opened and a moment later felt a slick, probing finger glide over his backside.

James wasted no time. Powerful hands spread Francis’ cheeks and a moment later, James pushed in. One finger, setting a slow rhythm, fucking into Francis at a leisurely pace.

His cock was trapped between his belly and the table, no room to move, no way to get relief.

“How’s this?” James asked, voice low, lips pressed to the nape of Francis’ neck.

He swallowed, before he could muster an answer.

“More. Please,” he panted helplessly against the cool wood.

“Hmm?” James stopped, instead. Francis _needed_ more.

“Please, _Sir._ ”

At the breach of a second finger, Francis all but howled.

“Quiet,” James spat, accenting his command with a knowing thrust. It hit exactly the right spot. Through clenched teeth, Francis cried out, arching off the table.

“Fuck. Unnnnh - James!”

“Quiet, I said,” James growled, fingers setting a punishing pace, every so often hitting that spot, which sent Francis into a state of excruciating arousal.

“More,” he whined. He needed release. He needed James inside him now. He needed to be taken and taken care of and needed to be handled by James.

“I – I need you.”

James stopped. Pulled out, stepped back and left Francis panting and helpless.

“What was that?”

“I need you,” Francis whimpered. “ _Sir_.”

“Mmmh,” James made, acknowledging Francis’ request. He took up the bottle of oil again, then set it back down. The sound of slick flesh. Then the moist pressure of the tip of his prick pressing up against Francis’ stretched out entrance.

“You want this?” James asked, teasing, but Francis knew it was a serious question. He had a choice here, even though he did not need one.

“Yes, sir.”

The first thrust nearly sent him over the edge. James’ hands gripped Francis’ hips sharply, there was no room to move; there was just James taking his pleasure from his wreck of a captain.

The steady movements of James’ hips, the slap of his skin against Francis’ with each push, the slow drag, as he pulled back before slamming back in. Francis had no idea for how long it went on like this, but he knew it could not last much longer.

“Francis,” James moaned. Ecstasy evident in his voice. “What do you want?”

“Finish,” Francis panted. “Let me finish.”

The jabs of James’ hips sped up, as one hand gripped underneath Francis, reached for his leaking cock. It took mere seconds, two strokes of his hand – three – four, before Francis came.

The orgasm washed over him in waves, each more intense than the last as he came over the table, his shirt, James’ hand. And all the while, James kept driving into him, in pursuit of his own pleasure.

Just as Francis began to ache with sensitivity, his nerve endings blazing with continued stimulation, James’ hips stuttered, he pushed in one last time, the force of it nearly throwing him off balance as he collapsed on top of Francis, spending in several hot spurts deep inside of Francis.

* * *

The first thing he noticed, when he regained a sense of his body, was the ache of his arms.

“James?”

“Hm?”

“Untie me? Please?”

James grunted and pulled out. Both of them groaned at the sensation. With shaking fingers, James undid the knot of his cravat around Francis’ wrists, before bringing his hands to Francis’ sides and turning him around, to face James.

He was beautiful, dishevelled, sweaty, a blush painting his cheekbones a lovely pink colour. His eyes were dark, emotional still, but there was none of the earlier rage, or the contempt. Francis was sure he looked much worse; where James wore the exhaustion of their activities with dignity, Francis felt ready to collapse. A mess, tired, spent, filthy and leaking from places he now blushed to think of.

Hesitantly, James brought Francis’ wrists up, kissed the inside of each, before capturing Francis’ lips. The kiss was soft and James was gentle with him, one hand at the nape of Francis’ neck, the other trailing down his spine and coming to rest at the small of his back.

“I hope you learned your lesson,” James mumbled between kisses, but Francis was too exhausted to respond, wrapping his arms around James.

James held him, kept him upright and for the first time in weeks Francis had a sense of hope, however misguided, at the thought of not being alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hnghghhhhhh scream at me..


End file.
